A Parent for Owen Meany Chapter 1
by clothesdfiles
Summary: A Prayer for Owen Meany, written by John Irving, is a story about John Wheelwright and his best friend Owen Meany, a small dwarf with a loud voice. Throughout the book, he explored religion, patriotism, and friendship, but we what if the title character lost his supernatural intuition? What if he wasn't a virgin birth, but a regular boy?


"IT WASN'T JUST A DREAM! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND JOHN THIS IS MY FATE. I AM GOD'S INSTRUMENT. I HAVE TO SAVE THOSE KIDS. I'M GOING TO SAVE THOSE KIDS. NOT YOU, NOT HESTER, OR DAN, OR THE GOVERNMENT IS GOING TO STOP ME FROM GOING TO VIETNAM! HELL I'LL JUST BE ONE OF THOSE THOUSANDS OF MEN THAT DIED IN WAR, BUT AT LEAST I'LL DIE FOR GOD."  
"Owen what kind of fate is this? You're crazy. There isn't fate or God or fucking miracles," I told him  
He looked down at the murky waters that lay beyond the marble slab we sat on. Seagulls squawked to fill in the silence. There weren't any girls to gaze at so all we had was the ocean.  
"YOU DIDN'T LEARN. REMEMBER THAT NIGHT WHEN I TOOK YOU TO SEE MARY MAGDALENE IN THE DARK AND ASKED YOU IF YOU COULD SEE HER?"  
"Yeah."  
"AND DID YOU?"  
"No."  
"BUT YOU KNEW SHE WAS THERE THE ENTIRE TIME RIGHT?"  
"Yeah."  
"YOU DON'T HAVE TO SEE GOD TO KNOW HE IS THERE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SEE MIRACLES TO KNOW THAT HAPPEN. YOU DON'T HAVE TO SEE MY DREAM TO KNOW THAT IT WILL COME TRUE. IF YOU DEMAND THINGS TO APPEAR IN FRONT OF YOU, THEY WON'T. THEY'RE SCARED. THEY COME TO THOSE WHO BELIEVE IN THEM AND I BELIEVE IN GOD, SO HE CAME TO ME. PLEASE UNDERSTAND THIS TIME."  
He got up from the slab and made a line towards the truck. If I actually came with my buggy, then I wouldn't have to follow. I would've proven him wrong, get up and dive into the waters. Fate didn't decide for me to drown. I did.  
Two weeks passed after Owen sent in his letter of transfer. No one in his right mind would have let him go to Vietnam. He couldn't even get across the obstacle wall! But I guess his dwarfness would let him crawl through tunnels more easily than most average men.  
He paced back and forth on the carpet at 80 Front Street, and then sat down to mutter to himself. His nasally voice made whispering for him sound like rats chattering as they scurry across the floors.  
"I'M LEAVING. I CAN'T THINK HERE PLUS I HAVE TO PACK TO LEAVE FOR BASE TOMORROW. COME VISIT ME DURING BREAK BEFORE I GET RE-ASSIGNED. IT'S REALLY NICE THERE IN ARIZONA. IT ISN'T COLD LIKE HERE IN GRAVESEND. THE WEATHER IS WARM AND DRY AND THERE ARE CUTE GIRLS VACATIONING THERE, TOO! WE CAN DOUBLE-DATE AGAIN!" And with that he pushed himself up and the truck outside was already humming out of the driveway.  
That night I couldn't sleep. Even with my windows drawn, the moonlight still seeped through the drapes and illuminated the room. It was strange since usually it's only my mother's bedroom that gets the most light; everyone else slept in the dark.  
Just when my eyelids started to close in and droop the, door across from my bed creaked. It was soft and could have been easily overlooked if the light didn't show the door moving. Slowly at first, then gradually opening faster, black smoke started to seep in and it enveloped everything in its past from the bookshelf to the other twin bed before ending at the foot of my bed. Thinking it was a fire, I jumped up, but stopped when the amorphous smog started to encircle on itself. Standing before me was a woman that I've never met. Her silver hair reached the floor, folded over and extended out the door. Her eyes, skin, and lips were essentially colorless except for the dress she wore.  
It was the bloody scarlet dress that my mother's dressmaker dummy wore.  
"John you must stop Owen. He's going to die unsatisfied with the world and angry at his own blood. He has unfinished business here and won't leave with me without coming back here to toy with other people. Yes Owen is destined to die a hero, but not like this. Are you at ease with your life now?"  
I didn't respond because I couldn't think of anything I ever wanted to know. Wanting to know my real father haunted me when I was ten, but I didn't care now. Dan was the best and only father a boy could have and if my real dad couldn't show himself now, then why bother finding those who want to stay hidden.  
"I see. Do you love Owen?"  
"Yes." That I could respond without thinking.  
"You questioned the presence of fate before and you still do now. Well let me give you what you want."  
Four months passed after the scarlet woman encounter and I was booked and on my flight to Arizona. I knew exactly who was going to kill us, how, when, and where. I knew how Owen is going to attempt to save everyone, Vietnamese refugee children, nuns, and me.  
His navy blue uniform was crisp and ironed and the white cap and gloves that he wore contrasted nicely against the blue. I saw him smiling and skidding across the airport floors when he saw me get off the plane.  
"HEY OLD BOY GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT. SOME IDIOT AT HQ MIXED UP THE FLIGHTS AND ONE OF THE BODIES THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE IN PHEONIX ENDED UP IN SAN FRANCISCO! IT'S GOING TO STINK UP THE WHOLE PLACE, BUT RIGHT NOW WE'RE WAITING FOR THE FLIGHT TO ARRIVE SO I CAN GO THROUGH THE FUNERAL PROCESS WITH THE DECEASED'S FAMILY." He pointed towards a disgruntled group of people. The mother had cotton pink hair and occasionally let out a screaming fit. The man standing beside her was the father whose distant gaze made him look senseless. Further away from the family stood the daughter, sister, or girlfriend. She wore a worn, translucent cotton dress that clearly showed a pregnant belly. A young man, fifteen years old, paced around the floor and kicked the invisible dirt. His chin was speckled with rough hair and attached to his clothes was a carpenter's belt full of mechanic tools.  
This awkward family affair was finally put to rest when the flight arrived and let down a casket with the soldier's body. The women rushed to the side and started wailing about the man's name. The father stood at the sidelines and the son began to fidget even more. He punched the sky and started to kick the floor more aggressively.  
Sensing that this family did not want to invite more military men to perform the ceremony, Owen handed the American flag, neatly wrapped around the pole, to the head of the clan. When he didn't take it, the son grabbed it and stomped against it against the ground.  
Men flew to his side and restrained him against the wall. "I can't do that! Says who? The god damned chinks you're helping? What about us huh!"  
The sister bawled and pleaded with Owen, but upon seeing her daughter's distress the mother kneaded her hand into the girl's straw hair and pulled. "Dick please calm down," the daughter begged.  
"WHAT A GREAT FAMILY RENUNION, RIGHT," he said when the group left the scene.  
Despite what happened on the first day, the rest of the four days we spend together was relaxing. We played tennis in the sun, pooled against each other in the game room, and drank martinis in the pool until the sky turned purplish dusk into black. Every night Owen wrote in his diary and when I peered to read the only thing I was able to saw was a countdown.  
He wasn't the only one in the room planning for the fourth day.  
July 7, 1968. It wasn't for another five hours until my flight back to Boston, so I waited with Owen at the airport. There was another special package getting delivered today, but Major Rawls didn't release any more details. Owen's face scrunched up and his whispering started again. This time I could hear his murmur: "TODAY IS THE DAY, BUT MAYBE IT REALLY WAS A DREAM."  
Just when he said that the special delivery plane pulled up on the driveway and the ladders lowered down. Penguins (nuns) carried small children wearing rags in their arms. The older children held onto the nuns' robes as they hobbled to keep up.  
"THE VIETNAMESE CHILDREN! THEY'RE HERE!" Owen scurried over to greet them and most of the kids were surprised to see a grown soldier that was their size. One boy who looked no older than five years old reached out to touch Owen's cheek.  
The nuns asked something of Owen and before I knew it the group were ushered towards the men's restroom. Memories from the scarlet woman started to surge up and the scene played before my eyes.  
Dick was there when we guiding the refugees to the restroom. Right when we convinced the kids to stop crying and just use the one toilet, he rammed down the wooden door and screamed "Time for you to die with all of these little gooks—with these little dinks!" He ripped open the newspaper-wrapped grenade and threw it at me.  
"READY FOR THE SHOT?"  
No.  
With my free arm I pushed Owen down so that he was laying on the floor with the rest of the children. I only had four seconds and stood on my toes so that the grenade was tucked away in the window enclave. I held it there and before I could count it denoted.  
I couldn't hear anything. Then I couldn't feel anything either. Blood splattered on top of the children's faces, nuns' robes, and when I looked down I saw what used to be an arm with a missing finger was no arm at all.  
"JOHN WHY DID YOU DO THIS! YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THIS! I CUT OFF THE FINGER SO YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE! WHY?"  
"Owen I never had to find my father…but you do."  
Then I left them; I was gone.


End file.
